


Ghost

by hotchoco195



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, major angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during season 2, when Angelus is on the loose. Buffy lets herself go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost

She smiled bleakly. “I guess that’s that.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

The harsh leather made him seem part of the black night, like his edges were blurred. He was only a few steps away, and then he wasn’t. She felt the shadows wrap around her as his arms, arms she’d felt safe in once, pinned her to the stone crypt wall.

“Come on, Buff. You gonna make it so easy for me?”

But she didn’t smile, and she didn’t cry, and she didn’t fight. She watched as his features twisted, as he realised he had won and lost. He brought his teeth to her throat and she held her breath, hovering between life and limbo, waiting for the pain to end.

 

She felt dizzy. She felt light against tired eyes and softness against sore muscles, and she sat up with a sob. This was too cruel, after everything else – to be warm, and comfortable, and alive.

“There’s my girl.”

He sketched her, finished pieces strewn around his chair. He ran an icy hand along her cheek.

“Why didn’t you bite me? Why couldn’t you just bite me?” she wept tears she had thought long gone.

“Shhh.” He laid a finger against her shaky lips.

And there in the decrepit mansion he took her against her will, but not without her consent. His body above her seemed to weigh more than even she could bear, the pressure forcing her further and further into herself.

 

She was never chained; she was never beaten.

“What do you want with me?” she pleaded.

“Just this.” She wasn’t sure what he was referring to.

She supposed they were looking for her; she supposed he would stop them. She supposed they were not alone in the old house but it didn’t matter. He brought her food and made sure she bathed and rocked her to sleep, and it was never with love, and his words were a hard vandalism of his face, but she felt better than she had since her birthday. The more obvious it was that Angel was gone the easier it became to ignore the constant pain in her stomach. Somehow the way he used her body made her feel more human. Perhaps it was because in those moments he seemed more like a beast than ever. Some days he came to her still sticky with blood, mocking her with his perversion of the maiden and the monster. But she was always wet and wilting for him – him, not Angel. Angel was gone.

 

They’d have made excuses for her. They’d have said she couldn’t help it, she was sick. But she’d failed them and they shouldn’t forget it. He never mentioned them and she wasn’t sure if that was good or not. He’d given her the run of the house but she didn’t take it until he fussed and clucked like a hen and made her walk with him in the little overgrown garden. Eyes peered at her from the gloom, but all she could hear were normal night noises. She could close her eyes and pretend she’d never heard of Slayers.

 

Spike started to spend the evenings with her, when everyone else went out hunting. He seemed grateful for her company, though he’d never seemed to like her much before. He was good at telling stories. He poured them into her head night after night, filling the slow hours until Angelus returned to taunt her with more sweet oblivion.

 

One night everything went wrong. He didn’t come home, and he didn’t come home, and still he didn’t come. Spike was antsy as the sun returned, fretting over his crazed princess. She slept badly for the first time in a long time, and when dusk came and still he hadn’t, she began to pace.

“Something’s not right, Slayer.”

He didn’t need to say it.

 

She hadn’t expected it to hurt so much the second time. Maybe it was Spike’s howling grief. They clung together, the house an ocean of raging silence and the old death smell of every minion Spike dusted for failing to protect her.

“I’ll kill those brats! I’ll tear their bloody limbs off!”

“Don’t.” she whispered.

He forced himself out of the chair, but he didn’t leave the house, and she felt some relief.

“Why are you still here love? There’s no one keeping you now.”

But she couldn’t go back and he didn’t really want her to.

“Spike, can we get out of here?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere.”

It was more for him than her anyway. She was beyond help now.


End file.
